


In Death

by StolenVampires



Series: Hunters [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Play, Bondage, Hunter McCree, Its vampire frickle frackin, M/M, Modern Era, PWP, Vampire AU, Vampire Hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenVampires/pseuds/StolenVampires
Summary: Vampires are not supposed to take Hunters and make them pets, lovers. But Hanzo has never met one like Jesse McCree. He will never have another like Jesse McCree.





	

The chain of gold suited him.

Honey skin, frosted grey eyes, wild chocolate hair, and a voice smoother than butter. Yes, Hanzo mused, sitting back at his desk, his hunter was utterly delectable. A cowboy, plucked from the clutches of death and forced to live. A kept hunter. Slave to a vampire who loved the taste of his American blood. It was different to Hanzo. Like a fine spiced wine, it had gotten better over the years, and if it could be described, the vampire would have said it was smokey and peppery. A spice and bite that burned down his throat and made him even hungrier even after nearly draining his precious hunter dry.

Over 10 years ago the young buck had come to his castle, cocky and brave hearted. Experienced in hunting vampires at night, the cowboy had come with a gun filled with silver blessed bullets, blood like fire from a diet of holy wafers and holy water. The old tried and true wooden stake, silver crosses embossed on leather boots. A bible tucked into his belt no bigger than a hand, and the most humorous thing of all, a cigar that had been blessed to burn holy fire and smoke. 

Oh how Hanzo remembered their first dance. The cowboy had come before sundown, staking out the manor, mapping it, lingering too long until dusk had fallen and Hanzo had found him. The sting and pain of a bullet in his shoulder, the cowboy had been taken unawares, and fled that night, but not before Hanzo had caught his scent. The heady mix of cheap whiskey, desert dust, and cigarillos. Hanzo stalked him the entire night, savoring the cowboy's fear. He was young. Cocky. A fool to have gone after an ancient such as himself, alone no less.  
He was also the first hunter with a fast enough draw and a sharp enough eye to have actually landed a shot on the elder vampire.

The first one to wound Hanzo in 100 years.

The second dance was even more violent than the first. The cowboy had come and laid traps in the day, baiting Hanzo, waiting and biding his time. Holy barriers preventing Hanzo for getting too near, and yet the traps were not strong enough to bind him. They did however, slow him, weaken him. The cowboy was not incompetent in the least, and as the bullet ripped through his chest, narrowly missing his heart, the other ravaging his neck, Hanzo laughed as he felt lungs he had no use for fill with blood. It had been the first time he'd used his dragons in a 100 years, wanting to see if the hunter was ready for what a true vampire could do. What HE could do.

Oh the scream of the cowboy, the scent of fear and panic and blood. An arm torn off, the hunter fled, leaving behind his severed limb in a pool of blood. Oh that night Hanzo had feasted. The hunter's blood was like honey. Ambrosia. It was everything Hanzo lusted for in a man. After their second dance, Hanzo wanted him. He wanted the hunter. To chain him up, pin him to a wall, strip him down and drain him of his essence. When the pool of blood had been greedily lapped up, Hanzo's shameless act of licking a floor clean seen by his other servants, he had them save the limb. Preserve it. It became his prize. A trophy. 

Looking back again at his pet in the present, Hanzo let out a hum, grey eyes flicking over to him, a smirk on the other man's lips before he walked over, seating himself on Hanzo's desk. It was an action they'd grown accustomed to. A ritual. his handsome pet would pull out a cigarillo from his breast pocket, offering it to his master. A nod and his pet wetted the end before gently pressing it to Hanzo's mouth. The taste of his hunter pleased him, and lifting the cigarillo up, his pet was ready, lighter in hand.

The taste of the tobacco however was hallow. Hanzo only smoked to watch it effect his hunter. The scent was more sharp than usual, but it served it's purpose, his hunter smiling and relaxing, taking a cigarillo for himself.

A rule. Do not smoke unless your master was offered one first. A rule to keep the game fresh. To tease and test each other.

Taking a long drag of the cigarillo, Hanzo thought to that final night. The hunter cowboy returning, arm replaced with robotics. It had been half a year and the hunter had come to finish what had been started. That night the cowboy had told him his name, wanted to kill him in a fair fight. No dragons from the abyss. No fancy traps or tricks. Just a vampire's speed against his quick draw. A shootout of a sorts. It was so poetic, Hanzo nearly laughed. This hunter, this brazen, cocky, foolish, delicious hunter was truly a cowboy, right down to the hat he'd worn since that first night he'd crept into Hanzo's manor.

One shot, one chance, the hunter was placing his life in a single moment. It sent a thrill to Hanzo's spine. The man was not cocky, he was wanting a challenge, a fight. A duel. Monster versus man. Hanzo obliged, and the pair faced off, the click of the clock counting down until midnight. And as it chimed? A bullet got him dead center of his skull.  
He'd crumpled, actually fallen at the hunter's feet, unable to reach him in time. Jesse McCree, the first hunter to best Hanzo. The first hunter to nearly kill him. But Hanzo was old blood. Fallen, he had the will to survive, to live. He'd pulled McCree down to the wooden floor, used what strength he had to pin the hunter before biting, flesh ripping open and tearing under his fangs.

Honey sweet.  
Ambrosia.  
Fire.

McCree had drunk holy water to make his blood less palatable, less appealing, but now it was clean. Pure. It was everything Hanzo lusted for. As he drank his fill, he nearly killed the man, and only when the echo of the hunter's heart began to dim did Hanzo pull away, fangs stained dark red, the wound on his skull healing. The hunter dying.

"You're smiling." The sound of his pet's voice drew Hanzo back to the present, red eyes meeting those soft grey.  
"Remembering fond memories." Hanzo noticed McCree hadn't moved from his spot, leaning on the desk so he was nearly sitting on it. It was the 22nd century, and mortals still has few manners, pets were not always perfect Hanzo supposed.  
"Of what?" McCree finished his cigarillo in a final draw, the cloud of smoke swirling around his head like a halo.  
The chair Hanzo sat up in made a dull screech as he pushed back, and from the corner of his eye, he watched amused as McCree jumped off the desk to stand at attention. The dark leather collar and gold chain around his throat looking more and more appealing each passing second.

"Come here McCree." The man's back straightened as he walked closer, head bowed, to not meet his master's eyes. Another rule. When near, do not meet the Master's gaze lest he gave permission. From a distance was fine, but not when near, not unless intimate.

"How do you like your newest gift?" Hanzo asked; a finger, cold as the night wind, slid down McCree's jaw line brushing the beard before running over full lips.  
"Bit tight and cumbersome. Might slow me in a fight." Hanzo scowled.  
"Master." The scowl turned to a smile as McCree corrected himself. Hanzo adored his cowboy hunter. So honest. So unafraid to speak his mind, yet so obedient.  
"It pleases me to see you with a gold chain. It makes your skin glow in the lamplight." Hanzo traced the finger down to McCree's neck, licking his own lips as the echo of the hunter's heart quickened, as the pulse under his skin began to throb with each heartbeat.  
"Reckon you'd jus have me chained in gold if you thought it practical Master." McCree let out a small chuckle, leaning into the touch. How far had his hunter gone to become so eager for him? To dare to speak so brazenly? Hanzo should reprimand him for his crass and rude behavior. His blatant disobedience to speak without permission. But McCree was special. He was cocky and foolish and no longer afraid of death at Hanzo's hands.

 

McCree was the first hunter in so many long years to make Hanzo excited. To make him, a vampire, and elder, fear death. Even now, Hanzo loved this twisted game they played. McCree was his hunter, his pet, but he was not defanged. The gun was never out of reach. Five bullets. Ever since that night McCree had shot him through the skull, it had never been reloaded. Five threats, five near deaths. McCree had done the impossible. Beaten a vampire. The fastest draw, the most precise aim- McCree had perfected the art of death. Hanzo was death personified, though himself once as death perfected.  
Yet McCree was the one the vampire now saw as death given form. Fragile, breakable, fuckable death. A threat at any given moment. 

Captive and given a choice. Die or serve. Those moments that McCree had laid on the floor, bleeding out had been years in the confines of his mind he told Hanzo once. Each time McCree saw only one way out if he wanted to live. And well, he was rather fond of living.  
So it came to pass that Hanzo took the hunter to become his. Mortal still, sent to hunt errant fledglings, to slay the ones who encroached upon Hanzo's territory. McCree was the fastest draw, the man with a demon's eye, able to shoot down any who dared. Yet unable to shoot down Hanzo, the elder one, Hanzo Shimada, the Dracula, the son of a Dragon, of the east. 

"You know McCree-" The way the vampire spoke the hunter's name always had the effect of desire. Lust racing down to McCree's length and straining into the unforgiving fabric of his jeans.  
"-I am surprised you accepted it without remark. It is unlike you to take to anything that makes you look like the dog you are." The firm yank of the golden chain sent McCree to his knees instantly, hunter letting out a sharp cry of surprise.  
"Have you lost your bite bitch?" Fire in those stormy grey eyes. Lightning and fury. Mechanical fingers grabbed the chain and pulled back fiercely, only giving a small leverage against Hanzo's inhuman strength.  
"I an't no man's bitch." McCree hissed, cigarillo dropping from his mouth to the floor.  
"Then what are you McCree if not my bitch?" Hanzo was grinning sadistically, feeling that hunger in him rising. Fury and bloodlust and sex mixing into one need that Hanzo could never quite quench.  
McCree laughed as if Hanzo had just told a joke as casual as a summer's day, "'M you huckleberry. Your hunter, my master." Hanzo noted the purr at his title, and just like that Hanzo struck.

Fangs in warm, hot flesh. The taste of his hunter mixed with the burn of the silver cross necklace the man wore just to be spiteful. Pleasure and pain, lust and a twisted love. They satisfied each other. Twisted beings who did not fear death so much as losing the challenge of life. 

When Hanzo pulled back, red running down his chin, McCree was on top of him, pulling at his clothes, face just as cruel as Hanzo's own. They were murderers, monsters, outcasts of the world.  
Hanzo smiled as the hunter turned hound stripped him roughly, tearing cloth in metal and fresh hands. He watched as McCree stripped himself, his wound forgotten as it streamed blood down his chest, droplets scattering around them in his frantic needy pace.

How perfect his hunter looked in contrast to him, Hanzo reflected as McCree worked to remove his pants. Dark sun kissed skin to the pale white marble that was Hanzo. Burning hot with lust to the cold flesh that was his undead form. Soft grey eyes to the hard red. They were perfect contrasts, and Hanzo, the devil born himself, adored it so.

The collar was pulled at by McCree, desperate to be nude and the moment Hanzo saw fingers hook into that golden chain he hissed, hunter freezing mid motion. Kneeling, fingers brushing metal, cock exposed and erect already drop of pre sliding down the exposed length.  
"No, you have been crass. Besides." Hanzo's gaze went to the wound, fingers following to brush against the raw broken skin and cooling blood.  
"This is how I would have you. Bloody, nude, and wanting." A shudder passed through McCree as Hanzo reached for the chain, slowly lifting himself out from under McCree and off of the floor. Passionate kisses were pulled from the man who remained on his knees, desperate for him, his master. Each kiss an appology, starting at Hanzo's feet and sliding up his body until inner thigh. McCree wasn't allowed the pleasure of his master until Hanzo was ready. However, Hanzo figured he could be kind. Considerate of the man who's cock was bouncing in the air, veins pulsing and making the vampire hunger for more of the hunter's warmth. Blood or other.

"Begin." A command and permission, Hanzo moaned loudly in the room as McCree took his time kissing his way up the vampire's shaft. McCree was by no means the most skilled of lovers, the most endowed but he was the one who truly found their acts enjoyable. Pleasurable. Twisted as it was, corrupt as it was, McCree was Hanzo's favorite for the simple fact McCree was not a man he'd forced to enjoy their acts.  
He had enjoyed them from the moment they had begun.

Small loving kisses up pale cock, the warm tongue lapped at the sticky droplets of precum that beaded at the slit. Low moans of want vibrating in veins that throbbed with a false heartbeat. A phantom muscle memory to encourage the gentle ministrations. Swirling Hanzo's cockhead with his tongue it was taken past full lips and suckled for a while, McCree's eyes closed as he savored the flavor of the man who held him firm by golden chain. Then slowly he sunk down on his master and lover, swallowing every inch until he had taken it all. The brush of his nose to soft black public hair, grey eyes opened and looked up to his master, the look on Hanzo's face one of euphoria and bliss. The deep moan from McCree had hips jerking forward as Hanzo's free hand came around, tangling in the shaggy brown locks.  
Gagging, saliva dripping down his chin and beard along with precum McCree was used. Tears forming in his eyes as Hanzo began to fuck his face, pulling back every few strokes to let the hunter gasp and breathe. McCree's own cock wept with fluid, his own pleasure at the rough handling, the taste of his master, the pain of his wound burning into something that made him feel alive. 

A horse shout in Japanese, a shuddering of thighs and hips, McCree sunk down to the hilt on Hanzo, eager and ready as cum filling his mouth, salty and thick. He kept himself there until his mouth was full, pulling back to let the last spirts of white to decorate his face. Jaw open, cum swirling in his mouth with his tongue, face painted by white seed, red lips, tear streaks down his face, and McCree looked up, waiting.

"Perfection." The word was breathy and amorous from Hanzo, his red eyes half lidded in pleasure as he looked down on his pet hunter. McCree was debased, debauched, defiled. Willingly no less. McCree was Hanzo's favorite because only Hanzo would see this perfection, the image of a hunter so skilled brought so low as to become a vampire's fucktoy.

"The gold looks so well against you like this Jesse." McCree's first name drew a whine from the man. Only when Hanzo was being truly pleased did he resort to McCree's first name.  
"Gold chains, white paint against your hair and skin. Yes, this is how I want to see you. Come to me Jesse." A tug on the chain and McCree stood, mouth still open, cum dripping down his face to mix with the semi drying blood on his chest.  
Fingers took his jaw and tilter it downwards, saliva and cum slipping away to coat the man's chest with the blood. Hanzo smiled as he heard the hunter's whine once again, his pet wanting to swallow. His filthy dirt pet.  
"Look at you, a hunter, a man of god and divine retribution covered in another man's seed. In his own blood and spit. You're disgusting." McCree swallowed what was left his breathing coming in heavy pants now that he could work his jaw and lungs freely again.  
"Master." He began, grey eyes glittering with a joy, a pleasure at it all.  
"Never was a man o' god. Just a man who wanted ta' see what was left in the world that could kill me." The kiss Hanzo gave McCree was rough, tongue swirling in his mouth to drink the remnants of his own cum, to taste tobacco and break the man's lips on his fangs, mingling it all with the heated spice of his hunter blood. McCree tasted like heaven for sinners.

 

"I will kill you Jesse." Hanzo pulled away from his hunter, red eyes admiring the pale, red spit that lingered on abused lips.  
"Until the sun falls from the sky and darkness embraces this world, I will kill you every day, for eternity." McCree smiled as a bitter laugh bubbled up from deep in the man's chest.  
"Yeah, that's what I want." Fingers dug into Hanzo's skin as he allowed himself to be pushed back onto the desk, papers and other office supplies falling to the floor.  
"Kill me. Again an' again Hanzo." McCree used his name, earning a snarl and flash of fang.  
"If I die I wanna die fighting you."

Twisted, depraved, corrupt. Hard kisses passed between them as McCree reached down, crudely spitting onto his hand to work Hanzo's ass. A single cool metal finger slid into the vampire, earning a deeply appreciative moan. These were the only gentle moments. When they would build to that thrill of penetration, completion. Easing his lover open, pulling back to spit again, and add another finger. Pushing, stretching the ring of muscle until a third finger could be added. Slowly working Hanzo's ass open, teasing his prostrate until the vampire's cock was bouncing against the expanse of Hanzo's torso, precum leaking towards his navel. 

A fleeting moment, grey eyes meet red and lips find lips. Soft and gentle, it is their clam before the storm.  
The storm breaks as McCree slams his hips forward, sliding into Hanzo with enough force to have hurt a normal man. But Hanzo isn't a normal man, and he won't break under the pain of the sudden intrusion, prepped or not. Fingers find the open wound on McCree's neck and dig in, fresh hot blood running down further the hunter's chest until in meets hip, sliding between them as the noise of slick flesh hitting flesh starts to grow obscene. A shout of pain at the action only fuels Hanzo's lust, licking fingers clean before he thrusts his ass to McCree's hips, a furious curse in Japanese as he feels hot. 

His hunter, flush red in the face from pleasure, muscles working under sun kissed skin as he fucks Hanzo like a monster with a human mask. Hanzo can only moan at the force, the pure raw power of his hunter's body inside him, abusing his form like he was there only to give the man satisfaction. Hanzo loved it. the depravity of it all, his own body screaming for more as his cock bounced in the air with each thrust, as his prostrate was hit each time, sending flecks of white to his eyes. Sex and power, domination through a submission.

The thick cock in his ass is so hot, so good that Hanzo keens as it bottoms out, back arching as McCree bends down to bite his nipple. Hanzo doesn't bruise, but the pain is pleasure, and he retaliates by dragging McCree back to his mouth, fangs sinking back into the wound he'd caused before.

So good. So rich and sweet and spicy and hot. McCree curses and shakes as he fills Hanzo, cum coating his insides in pulsating waves. It is enough to send Hanzo to the edge. Blood in his mouth, cum and cock in his ass, Hanzo's dick sprays another load into open air, coating his chest as well as McCree's in white ribbons. Heaven for sinners. This is euphoria.

McCree slumps forward, spent and Hanzo is left smiling under him, soothing running fingers down his hunters back, kissing the bleeding wound. 

"With each death comes honor." He whispers to his hunter who's cock is softening, slipping free of Hanzo's ass. The cum and blood is cooling on their bodies and Hanzo is aware he'll need to have McCree healed else his beloved pet will suffer from excessive blood loss. Slowly they part their bodies and McCree is left to slump down, naked and covered in blood and cum, the gold chain lifted by Hanzo as he recovers, the smile of a devil on his face.

"With honor, redemption." McCree scoffs from the floor, and Hanzo watching, twirling chain in hand.  
"There an't no redemption for sinners like us."

Slowly Hanzo bends down to life McCree's head.  
"Just why I must kill you Jesse. Each and every night, until I see fit to redeem you." They knew the truth and yet still, their twisted love remained.  
The vampire hunter fallen from grace would never be a man of god, never find redemption from being the slave to a vampire. His only redemption as a mortal man was to be loved by a monster. His honor restored only when Hanzo would end this twisted game as it should have ended that third night so long ago.

With a Vampire elder and his new child, ready to redeem the world.


End file.
